


i dont want anything inbetween

by TheFlirtMeister



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arguing, Body Dysphoria, F/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-12 03:57:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFlirtMeister/pseuds/TheFlirtMeister
Summary: “I bet you have matching pyjamas.” Sandor tells her. “With little kittens on.”“Of course I have matching pyjamas.” Sansa replies, indignant. “I’m not an animal.”Written for the Sansan Secret Santa in July challenge





	i dont want anything inbetween

**Author's Note:**

> for @mynameisnoneya1991

Sandor is lying on the sofa, Sansa’s head against his chest when he feels her starting to drift off to sleep. Her book is abandoned on the table in front of them, face down on the wood to remember her place, spine cracked in two. She had been reading something about the history of King Arthur when she’d suddenly set the book aside, and snuggled in close to him.

“Do I make a good pillow girl?” Sandor asks her, running his hand through her hair. Normally Sansa has it braided, thick heavy plaits that you could whip somebody with. Now it’s loose around her shoulders, feeling like silk between his fingers.

“Mmm.” Sansa replies, rubbing her cheek against his grimy shirt. “Yes.”

It’s the first night that Sansa has stayed over at Sandor’s apartment. Sure, they’ve visited each other, but Sansa has prying housemates and Sandor usually works early. Tomorrow morning, however, he has the day off, which explains why he has a beautiful girl trying to sleep on his chest.

“I’m not lying on this sofa all bloody night.” Sandor tells her. “Go to bed.”

Sansa attempts to bury her face into his armpit. “Take me there.”

“Carry you?” Sandor asks, and Sansa doesn’t reply. “Like a knight taking his lady love to the bedchamber?”

Sansa raises her head finally. “You’d look very handsome in a suit of armour.”

“I’d look like a walking tin can.” Sandor complains. “Fucking soup come to life.”

Sansa laughs. “You can be the Knight of the Soup, and I can be Lady Broth.”

“Lovely.” Sandor says, deadpan, and then prods her. “Come on. You’re a dead weight.”

“Are you calling me fat?” Sansa asks, pretending to sound annoyed.

Sandor looks at the remains of the takeaway they ordered for dinner. “You ate a lot of my fucking food.”

“You let me!” Sansa protests, but she’s smiling. “It was nice of you to pay. Thank you.”

Sandor grunts, and carefully pushes her off him so he can stand up. He always offers to pay for Sansa’s things, even though he knows she comes from money. What Sansa receives as allowance from her parents is the same as three month’s wages for Sandor.

He stretches, clicking his shoulders, and notices Sansa’s eye on the strip of stomach exposed as his shirt rides up. He pulls his shirt down, not wanting her to see the scars that litter his skin.

She hasn’t seen him naked yet. He’s seen her, god she sends him photographs of herself that drive him fucking wild, Sansa in pretty lingerie with an innocent look on her face, head tilted to one side at the camera. He can’t wait to unwrap her like a present, have her naked and mewling underneath him.

But Sandor doesn’t want her to see his horrific body. Sansa deserves her knight in shining armour, not a man more scar tissue than skin. He constantly keeps his shirt on around her, doesn’t even risk shorts that expose his hairy shins, he knows that the moment Sansa sees him for what he truly is, she’ll leave.

Sandor is not a man for romantic sentiment, but he thinks he might just love this girl.

“I brought pyjamas.” Sansa yawns, standing up.

She reaches out towards him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pulling him in close. Sandor lets himself be dragged forward, resting his chin on the top of her head. He can feel her smiling against him, the warmth that radiates from her.

“I bet you have matching pyjamas.” Sandor tells her. “With little kittens on.”

“Of course I have matching pyjamas.” Sansa replies, indignant. “I’m not an animal.”

Sandor rolls his eyes. “Your fucking mother probably buys you a new set every Christmas.”

“They’re good presents!” Sansa protests. “I want to see your pyjamas.”

“I don’t own _fucking_ pyjamas.”

“What do you sleep in then?” Sansa asks, raising her eyebrows.

Sandor opens his mouth to say naked, and then stops himself. He can’t sleep naked beside Sansa. She doesn’t want his snoring nude body beside him at night.

“Fully clothed.” He replies instead.

“Fully clothed?” Sansa repeats, laughing. “Jeans on, and everything?”

“Yes.” Sandor says, and Sansa covers her face with her hand, giggling.

“You’re an idiot.” She tells him, and then takes him by the hand. “Let’s go to bed.”

.

Sansa’s pyjamas don’t have kittens on, but they do have disgustingly cute birds and flowers on. She shows them off to him, standing in the middle of Sandor’s bedroom, striking a pose.

“What do you think?” She asks, flicking her hair back.

“I think you look fucking ridiculous.” Sandor tells her, from where he’s lying on the bed, still dressed.

“Thank you.” Sansa strikes another silly pose, and then pauses. “You aren’t laughing at me.”

“I’m laughing on the inside.” Sandor says, gruffly.

“Normally you’d be laughing out loud at me.” Sansa pouts, and then climbs onto the bed. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” Sandor says. “Go to sleep.”

“You can’t just order me to sleep.” Sansa says. “I’m not a computer, I don’t have an off switch.”

“Wish you fucking did.” Sandor grumbles.

“Oi.” Sansa says, leaning closer to him. “What’s the matter?”

“Just go to sleep Sansa.”

Sansa raises her hand, cupping his burnt cheek. “Is it me?”

“It’s not you.” Sandor says, wondering how the hell she can stand to touch him.

“Then what is it?” She asks. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Sandor says firmly, and moves his head sharply so Sansa stops touching him.

He clambers off the bed, ignoring the wounded look that Sansa shoots him. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t deserve to sleep next to a man like him.

“Get into bed. I’ll sleep on the sofa.” He rasps, “Safer that way.”

“Hey,” Sansa calls out to him, “Hey! Don’t you dare walk away from me!”

Sandor turns in the doorway. “You don’t fucking get it, do you?”

“No, I don’t!” Sansa says. “I thought you liked me?!”

“I do fucking like you!”

“Then why don’t you want to share a bed with me?!”

“You want to share a bed with this?!” Sandor gestures to himself, “This fucking thing? Are you insane?”

“What are you on about?!” Sansa asks despairingly, and Sandor pulls off his shirt roughly, throwing it to the floor.

“Look at me!” He growls, “I’m scarred, and burnt, and bruised, and you fucking want to lay next to me at night? You want to see this?”

Sansa is staring at him in shock.

“I knew it.” Sandor spits out. “I knew that the moment you saw me, the real me, you’d be fucking disgusted.”

Sansa says something so quietly that Sandor cannot hear.

“What?” He snaps, and Sansa tilts her head up to look at him.

“I’m not disgusted.” Sansa says softly. “I could never be disgusted with you.”

“You’re a bad liar.”

“I’m not lying to you.” Sansa presses her hand over her heart. “I swear it. Would I be here, in your bed, if I didn’t like you?”

Sandor looks at Sansa’s earnest face, and her stupid matching pyjamas, and how she has slotted into his life so easily, like she was made for it.

“I want to see you naked.” Sansa says, and then blushes. “I like seeing you, when your shirt rides up, or when you send me a selfie in bed and you think I don’t realise you’re just in your pants. I want it. All of it.”

Sandor doesn’t say anything. He realises that he’s standing in the doorway with his shirt thrown on the floor like a child.

“Come back to bed?” Sansa asks, her voice pleading. “Just... Come back?”

Sandor silently walks back to the bed, and sits down on the edge of it. Sansa runs her hand along his arm, squeezing the muscle slightly. She then moves her hand across his chest, and then down to lightly touch his stomach.

“Like what you feel?” Sandor asks gruffly.

“Yes.” Sansa says plainly, and smiles up at him. “Very much.”

She leans upwards and kisses him on the mouth. Sandor reprociates, but lets Sansa take control, letting her bite gently at his lower lip.

“I love your body.” She whispers against his mouth, and then slides her hand lower, into Sandor’s jeans. “Let me show you.”

Maybe sharing a bed with Sansa won’t be so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> please comment if you enjoyed! <33


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